Ancient Love
by Darksong K'adah
Summary: RATED MA but it won't let me do so. A knight and his King come to terms with their love. MM slashYaoi. WIP.
1. Chapter 1

We don't bother sticking around. This is Roman business, and we are no longer Romans. No, that's not quite right, we were never Romans, but their business no longer concerns us. Arthur won't hide anything from us should we need to know, and arguing with the Romans is useless. We're supposed to be free today, but the air does not hold salvation. Something is amiss, and we can only wait to see what Fate will bring us. Drink flows freely between us. Even with trouble on the horizon, we will be celebrating tonight. Throwing dice at the table, I try to ignore the putrid smell of death that follows me even here. How many have I killed in fifteen years beneath a Roman flag? I'm not sure which of those questions is worse, but I fear it is the latter. At Bors' urging 'Nora sings, and memories of home swell to push such horrid thoughts aside. Her softly melodic tune allowing a breath of a place we no longer know to caress our tired bodies and weary souls. Even this light respite can not last however.

I think I am the first to notice him standing there, but I say nothing. He doesn't meet my eye, and I know it is bad. I see the pain in his expression as he turns to walk away, wishing to give us at least this moment of peace; but he is stopped before he can escape by Galahad's incessant cries of "Arthur!" which are soon joined by Gawain's "you're not completely Roman yet, are you?" as he comes over, flask in hand, and offers it to him. Bors chimes in with his usual greeting; but I am wary. I can see his pain as he addresses us. "We must leave on a final mission for Rome, before our freedom can be granted." My heart sinks at those words, and for a moment everything inside of me is frozen. I will never see my home again, I know this now.

The celebration is over. The knights argue with their beloved commander. I just watch. What can I say? The Romans have broken their word, but we have the word of Arthur, and that will have to be enough. The others storm off leaving behind only Arthur and myself. There are no words between us now however, just a long silence as I stare into his tragically brown eyes. He's dieing inside, just as we are. I know it, though he tries to hide it. Finally, he gives up and simply brushes past me and heads for the stable. I should stop him. Should comfort him as I have so many times before, but I simply let him go.

I have nothing to say to him. He is my best friend, my brother, and my commander. We have fought side by side for fifteen ears. I could not abandon him even if I wanted to. There is nothing to say, but for some reason I follow him to the stable. I expect him to be packing, but am not overly surprised to find him otherwise disposed. On his knees, with his back to the door, he doesn't see me. He's praying, like he always is. That fool. Can he not see that it is absolutely pointless?

"Why do you always talk to god and not me?" I try to keep the jealousy out of my voice, and find it rather easy with all the hate and anger that presently colors it. Even the pain at this betrayal is hidden beneath the resentment. Good. I'm allowed to be angry. He'll expect angry.

"My faith is what protects me Lancelot, why do you challenge this? He hasn't stood and I don't stop my eyes from running over him. For fifteen years I have ridden at his side, and never had he looked as vulnerable as he did now. I would pity him, but I'm too busy pitying myself. A smirk pulls bitterly at my lips.

"I don't like anything that puts a man on his knees." I retort, trying to keep the sneer out of my voice. He is Arthur after all. He seems surprised for barely a second, before countering. So certain in this god of his, he won't listen to anything I might say against God, or the church. He never has. I don't bother challenging this anymore. It has no purpose. But this mission is suicide. He knows it as well as I, or he wouldn't be here now. None of us should be here now. To try and get past the Woads in the north is insanity, surely he realizes that. It is their land there, wild and unremorseful. Does he truly believe we can make it? How many Saxons? We don't even know what we're up against. It's suicide. I walk across the stable; he has yet to answer me. Barely a foot from him now, but he still hasn't moved. My eyes run over his armor-clad torso, and for a brief moment, I allow myself to wonder how it would feel to follow the same line with my hands.

"Tell me, do you believe in this mission?" if he would just say yes, then perhaps I could have some peace. To know that I was marching into certain death for the man I love, rather than the country I abhor. But he will not grant me that.

"These people need our help" he answers evenly.

I wonder what he is thinking, but he's shut me out as he never has before. I can't take it anymore. To be so close and to feel nothing…

"I don't care about your charge; and I don't give a damn about Roman, Britain, or this island. If you desire to spent eternity in this place, Arthur, then so be it, but suicide can not be chosen for another!"

"And yet you choose death for this family!"

"No, I chose life and freedom for myself and the men!" My hands knot into fists as they pound against the wood of the nearest stall. I want to hit him; to his something. But I settle instead for throwing myself down onto the bench. The wood creaks angrily beneath me in protest, and the horse behind me snorts. I can't look at him, I might kill him just now, but he gives me no choice as he lays his hands on my shoulders. I feel the weight of those hands, hands that I have dreamed of feeling against my flesh for years; but I can take no comfort from them. Nor from the heat of the body that stands behind me. I only barely manage to not lean into him. Doesn't he see how hopeless of a cause this is?

"How many times in battle have we snatched victory out of the jaws of defeat?" His voice is stronger than he is. He doesn't think I can hear the tremble in it. I don't let him know that I can. He is my king, my love, and I will not shatter that image for him. Still, I say nothing. "Outnumbered and outflanked, but still we triumph. With you at my side Lancelot, we can do it again!" He doesn't say it, but I can hear the please, the begging in that tone that I not leave him. Oh, that I could. I don't want to hear the barely restrained plea in his voice. I don't want to see him like this. As scared as the rest of us and trying so hard not to show it. Just once I wish he'd shed the armor and just be another man. Perhaps then I could reach him, but he never will. I'm not sure he can. He isn't just another man; he's Arturius, the great Arthur Castus. He isn't just another man.

I stand and turn to face him. However much I don't want to, I can't not. His hands remain at my shoulders. "Lancelot, we are knights, what other purpose do we serve if not this?" I can hear the plea in his voice again. The desperate need to believe in his cause; to know that he is right. But I am not sure I can provide that reassurance. This isn't our fight for god's sakes! Taking his face into my hands, I lay my hands across his tanned cheeks, my thumbs brushing either cheekbone once, before stilling. His eyes meet mine, and I can not look away. I long to hold him, to press my lips to his and end his suffering, but I can not.

"Arthur, you fight for a world that will never exist. Never." He crumbles slightly, I see the light fading in his eyes and it kills me to go on, but I must. "There will always be a battlefield" his jaw tenses and silence reigns for a long moment before I release him and step away from his strong arms. My back to him, I close my eyes. They're brimming with tears, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here, not before my beloved Arturius. I mean to walk away, and yet I am still standing here, listening to the pounding of my heart. What drives me to speak, I don't know, but I hear the words and know they are my own. "I will die in battle. Of that I am certain. Hopefully, a battle of my choosing. But, if it be this one, grant me a favor. Don't bury me in our sad little cemetery. Burn me. Burn me, and cast my ashes to a strong east wind." I don't hear him step forward, but again I feel him right behind me. And again I must force myself to remain standing, rather then press against his hard chest. Oh, to be in those arms… A strong hand is placed on my shoulder, and I feel him squeeze lightly. I don't dare turn towards him, not as a tear slides down my cheek. I have to get out of there. I can't breathe. I don't wait for any other response. I simply pull away from him, and silently leave him to his prayers. But as I walk away, I can feel those beautiful brown eyes boring into my back. Oh, if only you knew, my beloved Arthur, what you do to me.

My bed has never been so lonely, nor so cold, as it is this night as I lay beneath the heavy furs and dream of a tragically hardened face, and unyielding brown eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

OK, short one this time, but it's the best I could do in the time I had…

Please review…. Please!

One would think I would find solace in my dreams, but it seems the fates will not give me even that measure of peace. My eyes close, but there is only darkness. The wind beats heavily against the windows of my would-be sanctuary, and every lump in my once-comfortable mattress digs into my body so I can not even find comfort in these last few moments of quiet. There are footsteps outside, light Roman Cavalry guards, I'm sure, but some part of me imagines it to be another. That small part of my mind that is still capable of dreams pictures a strong body pulling open the door and silently slipping into the darkness of my chamber. He is a man here. Not a king, nor lord, nor commander. He is neither Christian, nor Roman. He is just a man. And he is beautiful.

He stands at the door, eyes wide. Could it be that he is frightened? His slick black hair is ruffled and falls half-hazardly in curls atop his head, as if a nervous hand has been taken to it repeatedly. As I sit up, he finally walks towards me, his steps soft. He is without armor now. Dressed only in a pair of soft leather pants and a white cotton undershirt. The material billows loosely around him, and as if to oblige my wandering eyes the shirt is unbuttoned. As he walks the last few steps to my bed, the cotton slides from his wide shoulders and drops to the floor. My eyes slowly run down from his shoulders across the sparse drizzle of dark curls that only barely hide the various scars, and then down following the trail of curls that soon disappear beneath the waistband of his pants. It is the rich sound of his chuckle that draws my eyes back to his face, my tongue darting over suddenly dry lips.

He is sitting on my bed, sitting as if it were his own. Were he only to ask, I would make it his own every night. I feel his hand brush my cheek. Could it be his is truly here? He smiles as if catching my thoughts, and brushes a soft kiss against my lips. His arms around me, he pulls me back onto the mattress, urging me to lie down. I do not hesitate. It this is only a dream, I hope to never wake. I feel his arms around me. He encircles my waist and draws me close. My back presses to his strong chest. I am trembling against him, and I hear him whisper in my ear. "Peace, Lancelot." It is him, I am sure it is. I turn to try and see his face, but his arms tighten around me, halting my movement. I would struggle, but he does not wish me to move, so I don't. I feel his warm breath against the back of my neck, the occasional kiss pressed against my skin.

"Arthur…" it is barely a whisper, but I am sure that he hears it, because his arms tighten around me for a moment. When I receive no other response however, I again turn to try and face him. He does not stop me this time, but as I roll over, there is a knock at the door, and I turn to find only an empty bed. Cursing, I drop back onto my back, covering my face with a hand "What!"

Barely is the word barked, that the door opens, and one of the young servants enters. The youth has yet to reach puberty, or so it appears, and he fidgets nervously beneath my gaze. Sitting up, I throw my feet over the edge of the bed. "Speak boy"

He hesitates, but finally steps forward and glances up, wringing his hands. "You asked to be woken at dawn, sir" the boy finally stammers, and receives a groan in response.

"So I did. Thank you."

The boy nods and backs out of the room. As soon as the door is closed, I hear him running down the hall. The servants have never been comfortable around "us Pagans". I don't hold it against him.


	3. Chapter 3

Just a short piece to follow up on the previous chapter. Chap 4 is already in the makings...

Please review! please?

I know it is foolish, but my eyes drift down to the floor in hopes of finding some sign that he was here; there is none of course. Will all hopes dashed, I shake off the last remnants of sleep, and quickly dress. The leather feels cold despite the cotton shielding it from my skin, sending shivers up my spine. The sun has not yet had time to warm the land, but it seems fitting: a bitter cold that screams of death. Pausing only long enough to grab a loaf of bread, I head out to the stable. If I am lucky, he will be there alone, and I can try to talk him out of this foolishness; but of course I am not. The respite of sleep has cost me my chance.

They're all there already, my brothers in arms, ready to face their fate. Bohrs sits sharpening his twin blades as Dagonet saddles up his mount. Gawayne is already excercising his, and she seems as excited to go into battle as we are. She dances angrily across the stall as I pass by. Tristan sits in the back, ignoring the lot of us as he polishes his favorite sword. Breaking the loaf in half, Gallahad takes it from me as I drop down onto the bench beside him. There are no words, but we all feel the same. Gathered here, waiting for him; but I fear I am the only one to truly wish to see his face.

He is a king again, hiding behind a mask of marble and stone. My eyes run over him for barely a moment. I can't help but wonder if he feels as he did last night, but I must remember that it was only a dream. I wonder if he feels as betrayed as the rest of us, but as my gaze rises to look at the Romans behind him, the hope of such vanishes. He is a Roman here, knowing only duty and god. Still, there is something about his drawn features that speak of age-old weariness and bitter resentment. No, perhaps Gawayne was right, and he is not completely Roman yet.

The tension in the air is palpable as the bishop steps forward. He doesn't trust us; he shouldn't. Any one of us would be more than happy to end his time upon this earth, but it is not our place. We are not murderers, though he doesn't know that. To his eyes we are nothing but savages; if only he knew what we thought of him. Perhaps he does. Looking much like a rabbit in a den of wolves, he tries to reclaim his ground among us.

"To represent the holy court, my trusty secretary Horton will accompany you on your quest."

We are hardly interested enough to watch said secretary step up. But I spare him a passing glance. Judging by his expression this news is as new to him as it is to us. He is either not as trusty as the Bishop claims, or Germanius is simply trying to intimidate us. Arthur sends Jols to get him a horse and the mouse of a man slinks off. He looks either terrified or disgusted to be riding with us, he should probably be both.

It is three days ride to the wall, and who knows how far beyond that. Our trail leads us through the woods and the Woads. They are tracking us of course, but it seems we are no longer their only threat. This is their land. The Saxon invasion concerns them more than it does us; more than we do them. They force us through the woods, the horses growing more and more alarmed with each trap that springs up before them. They are herding us like cattle, and we have no choice but to follow. With nowhere left to run, we make our stand Weapons drawn, we face them to fight, but they slink back. The horses dance uneasily as they disappear into the trees as nothing more than mist. Devil ghosts.

"Why would they not attack?" I can not help but to feel but disappointed. They push us so far only to deny us battle. I should be grateful. There is no way we can take them all, but it seems reason is not on my mind so much as anger.

"Merlin doesn't want us dead" Something in Arthur's voice tells me he knows more than he is willing to divulge; I do not push him.

We wait a moment more, but nothing shows and finally Arthur sheaths his sword. We follow suit without question, and Tristan leads the way out of the woods and back onto the main path. We are further west than we want to be, but he has scouted this land enough to get us back on the southern road before nightfall.


	4. Chapter 4

If this is truly to be a service for the Roman god, one would think that he would offer us at least a little support, but the rain has not stopped in days. It is in such bitter gloom that we top the hill and make our way into the domestic lands of the Romans once more. So far from their home, I can not help but wonder as to what they are doing so far away. They can not tame the lands around them, only managing to lock themselves away behind brick and stone. Why can't they just stay in Rome and leave this land to us?

Our arrival to the village brings me to wonder yet again what we are doing here. The horses dance as we make our way around the bend and towards the wall. Around us villagers gather, unsure whether they should run in terror, or bow before us in gratitude. Their expressions warring between utter fear and complete devotion. They seem unsure whether we have come to answer their many prayers, or if we are going to finish off what their master had started. It is a pitiful display. Bleak faces turned towards us in desperate hope of salvation that we can not bring.

Tired and hungry, they look as if they are nothing more than bodies to work the land. They live in run down shacks and cottages that look ancient. Even at home, there were not straw roofs. Behind the wall Marius lives in wealth and luxury, and it appears that he will not share an ounce of it to his people. The doors are closed as we approach, and the guards on the wall arm themselves. It would seem we are not expected. Instantly I wonder if this is a trap. A set up by the Romans. I would not put it past them. Even though they have sent their own. Arthur however, doesn't seem worried, and I try to relax. It doesn't work.

The man we are here to save appears before us in all his pompous glory. A bitter plump of a man who has seen one too many dinners and too few days of hard work. He is deplorable even by the Roman standards. I would just as easily leave him behind, but it is not my choice. He emerges with an entourage of guards who look as bored and dimwitted as their master. Like Rome really needs any more politicians. He knows nothing of the outside world, but pretends all the same.

"It is a wonder you have come. Arthur and his knights! You have fought the Woads, vile creatures." He reaches for Arthur's horse, but the mount dances away; smart creature. I doubt if he has ever even seen one of the Woad. Does he even know what they look like?

Unsurprisingly, Arthur doesn't seem at all interested in the man's display of obvious stupidity. "Our orders are to evacuate you immediately." The words delivered apathetically. It is not a tone I have often heard from him, and I am suddenly reminded of our confrontation back at the stable.

"But, that is impossible…"

He doesn't even bother listening. Marius' words are, as far as I can tell, meaningless.

"Which is Alecto?" He asks as his eyes scan the group gathered before him. The answer surprises even me as the youth calls down from the wall before quickly appearing before us with his mother. He is barely out of childhood. Predictably, Marius refuses to let the child speak.

"Alecto is my son, and everything we have is here, in the land given to us by the Pope of Rome" He sounds so self aware, I take pleasure in informing him of his approaching demise.

"Well, you're about to give it to the Saxons. They're invading from the North."

"Then Rome will send an army"

I try not to laugh and I can see the others doing the same. Rome wouldn't waste their men on him, it is almost surprising to find ourselves here, but then they have never cared much for us.

"They have. Us. We leave as soon as you're packed." Arthur declares.

"I refuse to leave."

There is a glint of danger in Arthur's eye. It is enough to send a shiver even down my back. Marius doesn't seem to have the intelligence to back down, and we watch in curious wonder as Arthur stalks towards him. Marius attempts to prove his point by sending his soldiers out against the gathered masses

"Everyone, back to work."

Echoes of 'get back to work' flitter through the spectators as they are carelessly shoved and forced away from the party. Arthur is unimpressed. But in his lack of observation, Marius turns back only to find himself face to face with a rather irritated Roman official.

"If I fail to bring you and your son back, my men can never leave this land. So you are coming with me if I have to tie you to my horse and drag you all the way to Hadron's wall myself, milord."

The words send an unexplainable shiver down my spine, and I feel my stomach do slight flip at the thought. I try to hide the slight twitch of the corner of my mouth, and am glad to hear both Galahad and Bors suppressing snickers. Now that, is the Arthur we know and love. Marius is stunned at the supposed audacity, but backs down and disappears back inside. We are hoping that this is the end of it, but as Arthur turns and looks around the land, I know it is not.

I know that look in his eye, it is one that always leads to no good. This world is not meant for people like him, who care too much and fight with every ounce of strength for a belief that no one else can understand.

Still, we are his knights, and so as he draws Excalibur, and heads into the village, we dismount and follow suit. Before we can catch up with him however, he has already found his target. A man, looking thrice Arthur's age, skinny enough to show every bone in his body, dirty enough to prove he's been there for far too long is shackled in the square. Blood dried in the welts on his back prove that he has been left there for some time now.

"Who is this man?" He asks of the villager standing beside him. Gannis he had said his name was as he stumbled after Arthur like a lost puppy looking for a home.

"He's our village elder"

"What is his punishment for?" the barely restrained rage in Arthur's voice had all the villagers backing away.

"He defied our master Marius. You're from Rome, is it true that Marius is a spokesman from God, and it's a sin to defy him?"

I have never seen Arthur so enraged as he is in the moment that his sword cuts through the chains holding the poor beggar up. The villagers hesitate to help the fallen man, but at Arthur's urging he is unshackled and helped up. They lead him off to clean him, or so I assume.

"Now hear me. A vast and terrible army is coming this way. They will show no mercy, spare no one. Those of you who are able should gather their things and begin to head south to Hadron's wall. Those unable shall come with us." Gannis moves to mobilize the villagers. Thankfully, the fear of the Saxons overrides fear of Marius, and they move to gather their things without further question.

Dread pools in the pit of my stomach. The Saxons will be here by nightfall. With all of these people, we'll never make it. We can already hear the drums of the approaching army. They will be upon us before we can even leave this god-forsaken village, but Arthur it seems is more concerned with the immediate disparagement of the villagers. The motion of two soldiers has caught his eye and we slowly move to back him up as he ushers them aside with his sword. It looks like a tomb of stone, and the entrance is already half-sealed. The soldiers seem slow to respond, so we help them along. Daggonet comes up on one side, Gawayn on the other, their horses shouldering the men aside.

We don't have time for this. The drums are getting closer, but Arthur doesn't seem to care. As the stone is broken away, Dagonnet breaks open the wooden door that was, thus far, hidden, and I follow Arthur down into what appears to be a dungeon. Gawayn follows behind us, taking the guards with him, while Tristan and Bors stay outside to keep anyone else from following us.

Down below, the stone walls give way to caged off holes cut into the side of the stone. Chains hang down from over head; some empty others, further into the darkness, holding up long-dead bodies. In the center of the room, a mouse of a man sits with a book in hand, muttering prayers in Latin.

"Who are these defilers of the Lord's Temple?" He exclaims, but we ignore him and continue on down the rows of death and torment.

"The work of your god? Is this how he answers your prayers?"

Arthur doesn't meet my eye "See if there are any alive."

I don't see a point, but I do as he says. By the smell of it, they are all dead. One of Marius' priests has followed me, and it brings me great pleasure to end his life when he attempts to question my presence is such a 'holy place.'

I hear Daggonet call from across the room and turn to look in wonder as he helps a child out of a hole. My attention is quickly pulled away however, as I crouch down only to come face to face with a very much alive young woman. She stares back at us in silence, and Arthur doesn't hesitate to cut her free and carry her aside. She is a Woad, as I am sure the boy is. As Arthur brings her water, I remount my horse, disgusted at the depths to which the Romans have sunken. She is a Pagan, but so are we.


End file.
